Woven Together
by Jane009
Summary: Irene took something from Sherlock before she left,but she couldn't even took care of herself.Sherlock received a baby months later.Thrown to be a father.And with enemies to deal with.He could only turn to those he trust.Holmes family history involved.
1. A Package

This is my first story ever published. The plot may not completely fit with the original plot. Since I'm not native English speaker, I tried my best to write with correct language and grammar. Any sort of review or opinion would be appreciated.

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><p><strong>Chapter 1 A Package<strong>

Detective Inspector Lestrade was confused when he walked in the flat of Baker Street, not because his old friend Sherlock Holmes had got into serious trouble again, nor had he become bored and annoying, but because he had just received a very strange phone call from John Watson.

Sherlock was robbed, 20 months ago.

"What the hell is that?" asked the DI."You do know this is my day off, don't you?"

"It's difficult to explain right now, would you come over?"John's voice was confused as well, clearly something weird did happen on Baker Street.

So here he came, the Detective Inspector who always consider himself as a man of kindness.

"Another break in,ah?"he shunned as he opened the door,but instantly noticed the difference.

Sherlock Holmes was sitting on the couch, with a pink-dressed baby-girl lying on his chest.

"I was robbed." said Sherlock with a calm, logical tone.

"Yeah, I have heard of that, 20 months ago." here he comes again, " Don't be ridiculous, whose this child by the way?"

"Mine."

"I beg your pardon?"

"She's my child, obvious. Can't you see her eyes and her fingernails? ...never mind, check this out." he handed over a file with blank cover. Lestrade took a quick look, it's a DNA report suggesting there's a female infant who has 99.99% possibility to be the child of Sherlock Holmes.

What a weird thing! DI Lestrade never expect this day would come. Sherlock Holmes got a child of his own, he wondered what Sally Donovan would say.

"So? What did she rob? Your liberty? You do realize the consequences of having sex in... "

"What? No!" Sherlock protested, jumped up from the couch with the baby in his arms, stared him impatiently, pointing a carton on the desk and about to say something, but this sudden made the baby burst into tears.

"Greg, that baby came from a package about twenty minutes ago." said John, as Sherlock tried to calm his baby down "in that box, with DNA report."

"She came from what?"Detective Inspector couldn't believe what he just heard.

"A package, dropped IN our flat. Mrs. Hudson went to her sister this week, so we aren't sure when and how she got in, and..."

"Hold on," Lestrade found his mind couldn't catch up what he heard ,"somebody broke in your flat, leave a baby in package with DNA papers, what is it has anything to do with getting robbed?"

"Of course it has!"Sherlock cried out, the baby leaned calmly against his shoulder," It's the only possible explanation. I never engage with any woman. There's no way she came from some sort of one night romance you suggested. The only explanation is this child was a test tube baby from a clinic which happened to have my sperm. But as far as I recall, there's no way any clinic can possibly acquire. This means very clearly, I was robbed somehow, with my spurn."

"So let's take a look of you, shall we?" said Sherlock to the baby,"clinged earlobes, no cliff chin..., couldn't see any detail from your forehead coz you're too young...hum..."

"Sherlock!" called Lestrade, but Sherlock didn't reply.

"Weight 20 pounds, able to crawl, still having sucking reflex, all front teeth had appeared. You are ten-month-old then."

"Is that true?" Lestrade turned to John, "He can't lie about this, right? It's a baby after all."

"I think Sherlock knows what he is saying." relied John, as Sherlock carrying the baby moved toward windows, "You know he's not interested in anything except his work. Not to mention women. And do you know what I think? I think Sherlock was furious about this. You should have see him reading that DNA report. He was so angry! I was almost worried he would throw that baby out of window. Thank God he doesn't lose his mind. No matter how weird this is, there is certain bond between them."

"John, hold and take a look at her."Sherlock called out, suddenly gave his baby to John, but the child wasn't happy about this, not at the least.

"What do you think ? Any clue ? "

"Well," murmured the doctor, the girl stared at him, anxiously, "She's very healthy I think, well-fed, and clean, her diaper is dry, um...so far she hasn't cried for anything so I think before we took her in, she didn't stay in that package very long...Sherlock, take her back! She wants you!" John couldn't stood to hold her anymore, not with her teary eyes. They look like Sherlock's.

"You hold her. I need to think"

"But she's yours." called out the doctor," And she obviously wants you!"

"Does she?" Sherlock looked a bit confused, but still he reached his arms out as John hand the child over. The child seemed relieved.

"Ok, as you like it." said Sherlock to the baby.

"So, why am I here?" asked Lestrade ,"You want me to find out who's her mother?"

"No, I already know who's the mother, no need to find her back because she's dead. Tragical!"

"You already know who's the mum?" asked John.

"Yes."

"Who is she?"

"Irene Alder."

"Who?" asked Lestrade, but John seemed very surprised.

"But Irene Alder was..."

"Announced dead. But she wasn't. I took her out of that terrorist base, last year ,about 20 months ago, when you went to your sister's. Look how she returned me. She must have me drugged and took my sperm, why didn't I even notice..."

"So Irene Adler isn't dead, and..."

"Wasn't , she wasn't dead. But I'm pretty sure she's really dead this time. This child was her heart. You can tell from the way she dressed her. The quality of those textures…manual lace collar decorated with jewels, perhaps cost more than anything in this room. She dressed her so well, but left her to me, means something happened to her, something urgent and dangerous. The carton was the kind that could be bought anywhere. It's dry but the air outside is humid, means it never expose to outdoor air. It was placed carefully in our flat to make sure the baby wouldn't be chilled or hurt. Apparently she didn't really want to send her away. Something forced her to do so. No memorial item in the box, nothing tells us the baby's name says that her mother wanted to leave her for good. Which makes the DNA report a clear message: I'm gone and she's yours, please take care of her."

"Poor child." said Lestrade, " But we can still tried to track down her mother ah? We have her name, and..."

"You can try if you're keen. Officially she had been dead for long. This girl's defiantly born out of record. We need to start from somewhere else."

"Where?"

"A private clinic performs illegal in vitro fertilization with stolen sperm and embezzled ovum"

"Embezzled ovum?" John couldn't understand what he heard," I thought you said the mother was Irene Adler."

"Oh, that's the tricky part." replied Sherlock with a smile, "That's the fun part. She's not your only mother, isn't she?" He stared at the baby, "The mummy you knew may actually bear you, but not your bio-mum." he switched the baby to his other arm.

"You really have to talk to your girl like that?"said John disapprovingly, " and how can you be sure she wasn't ..., oh DNA report of course."

"I know Irene Adler was her mother because the scent you can smell on her. That's her personal perfume. And she's also the only one who had motive and ability, even opportunity. But there's one lost piece."

"Which part, precisely?"

"Her blood type, it's O, John, same as mine. Irene Adler was AB. You don't have to be a doctor to know it's impossible for her to be the bio-mother. There must had been a donor, or more likely a poor women whose ovum was stolen."

"Maybe she bought someone's and..."

"It would be high profile. Judging by the time of her fake death and the Baby's age, stealing was much more plausible. And I don't think she had any sort of preparation before she got a chance to drug me. It must be an abrupt intention."

"So where do you want me to start?" asked Lestrade, "The clinic I mean. You do realize I can't just walk in a clinic and ask to see their client's private records, right?"

"You can take your time. Make me a list would be helpful, it's no urgent." said Sherlock ," right now I need to go for baby food shopping, want to come by?"


	2. Jenny

**This chapter is much more shorter. I holp you would still like it. Any kinds of reviews or opinions would be appreciated.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 2 Jenny<strong>

"Why we just bypassed the whole diaper area?" asked Lestrsde to the doctor beside him, " and why he want me here anyway? I know he doesn't really want me to help for some kind of investigation, that's not like him."

"Probably because you're the only one have fathering experience." said John with a secret smile, " He's actually kind of nervous, if you look closer."

"Yeah, you're right" the DI burst out of laughter," the great Sherlock Holmes got a daughter, he's scare but too proud to call for help."

John couldn't help but smile.

"But for the record, my parenting experience is actually limited, kids are all grown, and absolutely no idea about raising a girl."

"You don't know how to raise a superior mind as well." Sherlock muttered from ahead, "Why all these food seem so dull? I bet it must taste like fodder."

"All baby food are like this, Sherlock." said John, "because baby are meant to grow, just pick one! She also needs bottles and diaper...and you need to get her a crib to sleep."

"And clothe," added Lestrade, " maybe a go-cart too."

"Also, set a fence between living room and kitchen." continued John, " you won't want to see her crawl in when you're experimenting."

"How can both of you be so unobservant?" frown Sherlock, "Look at her! She sticks to me like a sucker fish, prepared to kill herself if I put her down, can't put her into a cart." he sighed a little, "not to mention let her sleep in crib."

"Oh." replied John, "It's fine…actually study shows babies could be more…balanced if you put them in family bed."

"Really?" Sherlock looked a little bit surprised.

"I'm a doctor."John simply shrugged.

"I heard that study too." said Lestrade, "It was on the news."

"That explained a lot." groaned Sherlock as he finally picked up one jar of apple sauce and examined it."And how can they let children eat this kind of fodder taste crap just because it's convenient? That's definitely child abuse."

"Explained what?" ask John, Lestrade passed a strange look.

"Why she yearns human contacts so badly." hissed Sherlock as he looked at his daughter. John could see the anger inside his eyes, so did Lestrade, but it wasn't with the baby."Children's instincts are sharp. They know what happened and what they need. She knows her mother had abandoned her, and she's panic. Cling to everything she found ok…to prevent herself from…being damaged." the last word was sunk in bitterness.

He putted back the apple sauce.

"I can't feed her with this." Sherlock turned to his two friends, "I got all the way wrong, there's something else I should worry about, something much more…important."

And that was Sherlock's last words during the shopping. Afterward he led them to the other part of the supermarket, purchased loads kinds of vegetable and milk, he left John and Lestrade once, took the baby to toilet("How can he even predict that?" asked Lestrade surprisingly.), came back to pay out, as soon as he finished shopping, he asked them to rushed back to Baker Street.

"So what is this all about?" asked Lestrade, he was helping John to make room in the fridge, apparently Sherlock's vegetable was too much for a body-part-loaded fridge.

"I need you both to promise me one thing." murmured Sherlock as he walking into kitchen, patting his sleeping daughter on his shoulder.

"Perhaps you could help first." John raised his head, Lestraide shut the fridge door with a sound of relief.

"And please at least try to get rid of all those body parts." the detective inspector frowned as he looked up.

"Promise me one thing." said Sherlock, ignoring all of those commands, "I'm serious."

His expression made John and Lestrade seize their mocking tone.

"What is it then?" asked John.

"I need both of you to withhold the fact that I got a daughter." his voice was quiet, but each word were clear, "If anyone ask, just tell them She's my niece, my cousin's child."

"But…"Lestarde seemed confused.

"Please." he looked into their eyes. "You do remember last year, Jim Moriaty tried to blow us up, he abducted you, John."

"Oh I see…"John sighed, "You want to keep her out of this."

"Irene Adler was killed. I don't know how, I don't know why. There's so many pieces lost. I don't even know who's her bio-mother, maybe she has something to do with Moriaty, or maybe not…either way, there's too much risk. All I'm sure right now is she shares my gene, I don't even need DNA report to confirm that…"

"I got your point." nodded Lestrade, "I understand, I got kids."

"I know you would." replied Sherlock, "If you bump into us on street, maybe you could…"

"Pretend not knowing her, I got it." said Lestrade quickly, "It's a shame, I thought she just started to like me."

"Really?" smirked Sherlock, "Don't be ridiculous, little Jenny had just sorted herself out of panic and fell asleep."

"Jenny?" repeated John, "You figured out her name?"

"Nope. I just picked one."


	3. God I Hate You

Hello there,

First of all, I have to thank for everyone who read my story. It's thrilled to know that all of you are actually reading. Thanks a lot.

And then, as usual, I appreciated every kinds of reviews. Please drop something for me if you like it. **Please please please**!

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><p><strong>Chapter 3 God I Hate You<strong>

So life goes on. After Lestrade left their flat three weeks ago, John, to his own surprise, found time flew by much faster than he thought.

Jenny was a perfectly good child. As a baby girl she never caused any sorts of trouble John had expected to see. She's quiet, almost happy, contented with everything Sherlock gave her. At first John was a little worried she might suffer malnutrition, since Sherlock refused to feed her with proper baby food. But it turned out Sherlock made himself a competent parent, he purchased her cloth online( all white), made her fresh smashed potato and mixed with milk, vegetable, beans, eggs, and sometime cheese. Those highly nutritious paste smelled so good, if it were not contained in Petri dishes-which made his parenthood looked much more like an experiment, but Sherlock claimed it was easier for him to measure how much his daughter ate, plus shallow dishes made the paste cooled down quicker -John would want to sneak it. Everything went well, except one thing.

Jenny was very, very insecure. She couldn't let Sherlock out of her sight, which meat Sherlock had to carry her everywhere.

At first it was fine. Sherlock rarely went out, and it seemed London was in criminal off-season, allowed them enough time for rerunning DNA test at Bart's(Molly seemed wasn't around all the time, maybe she was on holidays), trying to seek out her biological mother through every available database, but nothing turned out, the mysterious bio-mum wasn't in record, which means that woman was someone without criminal record…at least in Britain (Sherlock seemed very sure the biological mother was a Briton, but didn't mention other details.)

And then there was a problem. One morning Lestrade summoned Sherlock to see a crime scene in five minute walking distance. Jenny refused to stayed with Mrs. Hudson(who doesn't know Jenny was Sherlock's daughter.), almost killed herself out of scream when Sherlock tried to put her down in the landlady's armchair. Without any options left, the detective and the doctor had no choice but took her with them.

The crime scene was in an old building. Loads of police surrounded the whole area, it was a double murder, as detective Inspector Lestrade informed them earlier.

Once they reached the destination, Sally Donovan staring at them.

"Who's this kid, freak?" asked her with narrowed eyes, "Someone you kidnapped for experiment?"

"Niece." answered Sherlock simply, "A cousin's child." He let himself stepped in the block down area.

"What kinds of parents would like you to take care of their kids? Other freaks I suppose? "

Sherlock didn't reply, he just didn't care.

Lestrade waited them at the doorway.

"Hey, Sherlock, got yourself a baby?"he asked deliberately, Sherlock couldn't help but smile.

"She's my niece, Detective Inspector," he turned Jenny around to let her see Lestrade, "That's a curse in an extended family, an alcoholic cousin got himself hospitalized and divorced, the rest of us have no choice but help him clean up his mess. She stays with me right now, won't be long, hopefully. Shall we start?" he said as he walked in the building.

"Hold on, you're taking her into crime scene?" exclaimed Lestrade with his arms crossed.

"Yes." Sherlock turned back, Jenny started to lean her head against his shoulder, sleepy.

"You can't do that." said the Inspector.

"Why? Don't worry she'd be frightened, she's too young to be traumatized by corpse ." Sherlock paused a little.

"It's not about traumatized or not, Sherlock." replied Lestrade firmly, "You can't take her in, no parents would agree this."He empathized the word 'parents'.

"I suppose her PARENTS won't mind."

Lestrade rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock, Greg's right. You can't take Jenny with you. The body they found has been here for a while…even through you don't worry she got nightmare, don't you worry she'd get some kind of infection? Children's immune system are weak."John said quietly, " And you don't want sergeant Donovan or someone else phone Children Welfare, right? Just…save yourself out of trouble. "

Sherlock sighed, walked back to Lestrade.

"Alright, she's almost asleep. This will work." he handed Jenny to Lestrade, quickly and smoothly, "Don't wake her up, and don't let ANYONE touch her."

Lestrade knew in his heart that "anyone" was actually Donovan and Anderson. He hold the baby girl carefully, stood aside.

"I'll be back in five minutes." said Sherlock, but he wasn't talking to Lestrade, "Come on John." He walked hastily.

But just as they about to reached the first corner of hallway and stepped upstairs, a clear, loud, shrilly cry came from behind slowed down Sherlock's paces, John heard his friend groaned, tried to walk on, yet when he heard Lestrade attempted to calm the baby down, he stopped and turned back to the Detective Inspector.

"God I hate you, "He took little Jenny back to his arms, started at her, "I really do. You win. Let's go home." And then he rushed out of the house, leaving John and Lestrade there looking at each other.

"Where are you going?" yelled Lestrade out loud, "You haven't even seen the crime scene yet."

"Home, I'm off here." returned Sherlock.

"But I need you to…"

"I'm afraid that won't happen, Detective Inspector." said Sherlock as he surpass the cordon with Jenny in his arms, "Apparently little Jenny cannot stand to keep you company, and I'm not taking the risk that she might be infected with something in the crime scene, or to phone children welfare. So we're off here. Good morning. John!"

John jogged to join him, trying to say something, but Sherlock didn't even look back as he rushed away the block down area.

"So you just walk away like this because Greg doesn't let you take Jenny in?" asked John as he caught up.

"What else I can do, John? She can't cope with staying with Lestrade. And I think she can't even stay with you. There's no option left. I have to give up this case."He gave an irritating look to Jenny, who fell asleep already.

"Good God." sighed John, "You're really into this."

"What?"

"This parenting thing. You made yourself a good father."

"Shut up, this is my niece, remember?"

"Sorry, but you're really good."

"I have to." replied the detective, and then there was a pause.

"But I still hate you," he peered down at his arms, whispered, " a lot."


	4. How Cute

**This chapter is basically about Sherlock's parenting state of mind, I didn't mean to write about this, but it turned out rather fine. Hope you'll enjoy this chapter, I personally consider this is one of my favorite. Leave a review if you find it ok. Thanks a lot.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 4 How Cute<strong>

Sherlock Holmes was pissed, of course he was. He just walked out of a crime scene for his daughter, and she obviously had no clue what he had sacrificed.

She simply lied on his armchair, fell into sleep.

Lestrade had called, informed him that he would like to bring the files to Baker Street later, Sherlock agreed, what else could he do?

He wanted to throw that little thing out of window.

But he couldn't. He did serious consider that when he first saw her, when he first understood what had happened, what that package and DNA report meat, he felt angry, much more than he ever had, yet his rationality made it very clear that he was not angry with Jenny, she was just a victim, a prey to THE WOMAN's selfishness. And somehow, he knew how she felt. She was still too innocent to comprehend, but Sherlock knew the signs. He knew what was that mean when the little girl laid her eyes on the doorway, pricked her ears up when someone open the door downstairs. He also knew why she'd cry when she smelled the scent on the pink dress she used to wear. She was still waiting, hopelessly, for her mother. It must felt like been betrayed.

Ridiculous, he smirked, but made sense.

No matter how he found about sentiment, that is indeed how children start to learn the world. And no matter how he thought about been thrown into parenthood, here he was, watching a baby carrying half of his gene napping on his armchair, things had just happened.

And he's going to mess up.

John Watson had overestimated. He told Sherlock he made himself a good father, but the detective knew himself better, he knew what he is, and he's going to damage his daughter even further, someday.

A small sound of sob came from his armchair, interrupted his thought. Here, once again, another bad dream, definitely about her mother.

Maybe he shouldn't have given her to Lestrade earlier in the crime scene, she was obviously upset, more than upset, terrified.

She thought he was going to leave her, like the woman?

Perfectly logical assumption for an infant's mind.

"OK, it's alright, it's going to be ok…"he whispered as picking her up, "I'm not going to leave you…" he stopped, that's a promise he couldn't kept, even if he wanted to.

"I'm not going to leave you like she did." So he corrected himself.

Jenny lifted her eyes up, looked straight toward him, tiny drops of tears still hanging on her cheek, she was listening, Sherlock knew she was, an eleven-month-old is fully capable of listening, even understanding.

Hence, he looked her back, cleared his throat a bit, and started again.

"I'm not going to leave you like goods loaded in package, Jenny Holmes." Does she know this is her name? God knows what the woman named her, "This I can promise." murmured Sherlock slowly, he felt Jenny raised her arms surrounding his neck, leaning her face against his left shoulder, breathing smoothly. He could fell her pulse, knowing she was swallowing his words, she couldn't understand it, or maybe she could? That didn't really matter, he made his point rather clear.

He would try to take care of her, protect her from danger. He would try to stay with her as long as he could. And if he would have to leave her for her own safety, some proper arrangement must be previously done.

"Hey, Sherlock, " John's voice came from upstairs, he was about to go to work, "I'm just going, do you want me to bring anything back for you or Jenny? "

"No." answered Sherlock briefly, "She has what she needs."

When John Watson finished his shift in surgery and returned to 221B, to his surprise(or maybe not so surprise), he found Mycroft was there, sitting on his usual armchair, watching Jenny crawling around on the floor with amusement.

"Good evening, John." greeted Mycroft.

"It appears my sweet little niece is trying to walk but in vain. And she's upset. That's good, isn't it ? Being ambitious. "

"Oh."

"What do you want, Mycroft?" Sherlock asked impatiently, fiddling with his violin, gazing Jenny on the floor.

"You know why I'm here, Sherlock. Do you really think you can keep me from knowing her? You're clever enough to aware that's impossible, you're just playing childish."

"What do you want, Mycroft?"asked Sherlock again.

"I want to see her, brother."

"And you have, what else?"

"Mummy wants to see her too."

Sherlock smirked, "Hardly difficult to deduce."

"Of course there's more, brother." replied Mycroft, "Sit down, pleas? John, would you be so kind to give us some privacy, You're a respectable friend, but I'm afraid this would be family affairs."

"Yes, of course, I'll be upstairs." muttered John, rushed to his bedroom.

Sherlock watched him leaving until heard the slam of his door, and then seated himself down on his armchair, little Jenny crawled toward him, he reached out and picked her up.

"You made a good father for her I suppose."

"We're not going to talk this, are we?"

"No, I'm just saying, you're a good father, Sherlock." paused Mycroft a bit, "Mummy will be pleased, you know she'll be."

"Are you done now?"Sherlock rolled his eyes up, yet couldn't stare at the ceiling for long, because Jenny was taking over his violin. She's interested in those strings, tried to lick them.

"Don't! Don't try to chew everything, that's annoying."

Mycroft burst into laughter.

"She's really a Holmes. And I bet her mother is one of those like us. "

Sherlock couldn't help but sneer, "How would you know?"

"Let's say, a hunch. And my hunch is usually correct."

"That's still not helping."

"I never say it is. But it seems you've already failed to search out her biological mother, am I correct? What leads do you have right now, my brother?"

"I can narrow down the area the woman could possibly receive artificial insemination. But nothing else. Even though you can access all the private record from every hospital and clinic, it's still implausible to track the bio-mother down, because I'm pretty sure the egg was embezzled. It's out of record."

"I suppose you've already researched thoroughly. " said Mycroft, Sherlock didn't respond.

"This situation is unpleasant. But we can still make some arrangement for little…Jenny, is that correct? Why named her Jenny? Is that a short for Jennifer, or a nickname for Jean?"

"Neither."

"Fine." Mycroft ignored his brother's expression, "We were talking about arrangement."

"Yes."

"She is still out of registration. How do you feel about that? Do not really care I suppose?"

"She doesn't need an identity. Not now."

"I see your point." said Mycroft slowly, gazing his brother's face as he stood up leaving, the younger man and the baby on his lap gazed back, their similarity made him smile.

"She's imitating you."

"I know."

"How cute."

"Shut up."

"For double check, brother." asked Mycroft back at the door,"Is this really what you want?"

"Yes, Mycroft. That's the best I can offer, right now."

Mycroft looked back to his brother as he walked out, silently sighed. Sherlock was avoiding his eyes and the older brother knew exactly why. He had seen Sherlock like this before,when they were still boys. He understood what that meant. But understanding didn't mean he was ever glad to see it.


	5. Stumbled After the First Step

**Hello everyone,**

**This is the chapter introduce my version of mummy Holmes. Picturing mummy Holmes wasn't**** easy for me, cos I was hoping to make her clever enough but not that clever, and having considerably influence to the Holmes brothers. Hope you enjoy it and please tell me what do you think. **

**Thanks**

**Jane from Taiwan.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 5 Stumbled After the First Step<strong>

A week later in 221B, a visitor showed up. It's was Sherlock' mother.

John had been expected her visit for days since Mycroft came to them last week. He was looking forward to meet Sherlock's mother, after all he had been shared this flat with the detective over a year, heard the Holmes brothers mentioned their "Mummy" at least over twenty times.

Sherlock wasn't look like her, except his eye color.

And that's why the lady was so pleased when she looked into the little girl's eyes.

"You must be Dr. Watson." Mrs. Holmes greeted him warmly like she'd already known him as John entered the living room, shook his hand pleasantly, Jenny was held by her other arm. The little girl had become easier this week, she started to allowed other people touch her as long as Sherlock was in the same room.

"Mrs. Holmes." greeted John, surprised by her looks. Mrs. Holmes wasn't exactly like what he'd pictured. Although she did look handsome and dress decently as he had imagined, but John never expected she would dress like a professional.

"Barbara, please." She gave him a big smile, "Myke and Sherlly told me much about you, it's nice to finally meet you."

Myke and Sherlly? John gave himself one second to swallow these nicknames, a couple of slight uttering came from the direction of armchairs, John raised his eyes, noticed Mycroft was sitting on Sherlock's usual spot, and Sherlock was standing by the window, watching.

"Well, I heard lots about you." replied John. That wasn't quite true, but he did hear the brothers mention her a lot.

"Really? Which one of them mentioned me to you? " She chuckled, "You're a kind man, Dr. Watson, but not a good liar."

"Ah…"John felt his cheeks blushing, "John, please."

"Ok, then." answered her brightly, walked toward the couch and sat down, kissed her granddaughter's hair. "You're breaking my arm, sweetheart. 22 pounds is tiny bit overweight in your shape. Daddy feeds you too well I'm afraid."

"21 and a half." Sherlock corrected his mother.

"Sorry?"

"I said she's 21 and a half." Sherlock said flatly. John saw Mycroft rolled his eyes, but their mother seemed didn't mind at all.

"Still overweight, Sherlly."

"Don't you have something else except picking up?"

"I'm not picking you, dear. You know I'm not." The mother replied, "And you may want to give me a hand now."

John had no idea what she was saying. He looked toward Sherlock and Mycroft, the younger man paused a bit, stepped toward his mother on the couch.

"Fetch me my bag, Sherlly."

"It's right on the table, Mummy."

"Yes, and I'm holding your daughter right now. Fetch it up, put it in front of me, and pass me my stethoscope," She looked at her younger son, "please."

Mycroft started to grin, John stared at the older brother, and turned to the mother.

"You're a doctor?"asked John as he watched Sherlock handed his mother a stethoscope.

"Pediatrician." answered she, examining Jenny's belly, slowly wore the stethoscope up, listening her lung by her back, " for a life time. "

"Oh." John responded.

"Ok, everything's fine," said Barbara, "perfectly normal, which, of course, I've been told." She sighed and peered at Sherlock, "alcohol swap, vaccine bottle and syringe, dear?"

"There you go," Sherlock rose his eyebrows as he passed a small pouch to his mother, "granny."

"Sit down and hold her on your lap." His mother looked up and smirk, "daddy."

Mycroft started to laugh.

"Oh my God, " John glanced at Mycroft, seated himself in the other armchair, "that's better than crap telly."

"You have no idea." said Mycroft cheerfully, "This is our mother dearest. Incredible, isn't she?"

"Bossing Sherlock around, incredible indeed."

"She can boss anyone if she wants. And you will follow her wholeheartedly."

"I can hear you boys." the mother Holmes spoke, "And now, here's our little problem." She approached the loaded syringe to the girl, "Don't looks at me sweetheart, turn and look at your daddy, and give me your arm." And then there was a groan from the baby girl.

Jenny stared at her grandmother, stunned, raising her arm over her head, tried to figure what had happened.

She did it quick, thought John, pediatrician for a life time indeed. That's why Sherlock wanted her to be here, he needed someone to vaccinate his off-recorded daughter.

"There we go, brave girl. You should be proud of her."She smiled to her son, "She might have fever in the next couple of days, make sure she doesn't scratch, and …"

"Oh, save your standard procedure to someone else, mother." interrupted Sherlock, "You speak like a bloody…quack pediatrician."

"I am a pediatrician."

"Then don't speak like a quack one."

"So I'm not a quack then?"

"Hum."Sherlock narrowed his eyes, stood up carrying Jenny and paced away.

Oh she is good, damn good. John noted in his head. He could see why the Holmes brothers are like this now.

"Ok, playing doctor's time over is over, Granny returns now." Smiled her with a deep breath, "What are you boys want to talk about first? "

"Ah, that's…" Mycroft was about to say something, but his mother didn't give him a chance to finish.

"If you boys want to know about inheritance, I'd regret to inform you both that your share will be considerably lessened since I wish to leave a decent fortune to baby Jenny, and even her mother too."

"Heritage is not a problem, mum." said Mycroft, "It never is."

"Then what is it, Myke?" she gazed at her older son, "When do you boys want to tell me who is my granddaughter's mother, and what happened to her?"

"We um…" Mycroft sighed, slightly cleared his throat, and seemed a bit anxious. John had never seen him like this.

"Technically, mother," Sherlock's voice rose as he tried to make Jenny stand on the desk " I can only answer your question halfway, since she has two mothers. The surrogate mother is dead, and her name was Irene Adler. She was also the one who drugged me, stole my sperm and another woman's ovum to impregnated herself, gave birth to your granddaughter, raised her until last month, tucked her into a package and placed it in my flat. If you wish to know more about her delicate life history, you can ask Mycroft for her file, which, I presume, is already in his briefcase now."

Barbara looked confused, she stared at her younger son and turned to the older one, the latter gave her a strange look, handed her a brown envelope. She took a quick glance, eyes narrowed down, couldn't quite believe what she had seen.

"Oh, dear. What's wrong with this woman? How on earth did you boys get to…Myke, did you really send Sherlly to her house and bump into CIA killers? What else didn't you boys tell me?" Anger rose in her voice.

"Well that was…" Mycroft looked guilty, Sherlock smirked a bit.

"Sherlly, that's not funny. And, John," the mother stared at him, "you were there too. My God, you both were almost killed."

"It was ok, Barbara, I mean um…we survived after all." John didn't know what to say to this mother, she seemed almost faint.

"Yes, except she shot my addictive-prone younger son with morphine and…what is this? Whipped him down? Should I feel lucky that he didn't get concussion or fractured skull?" She glared at everyone in the room, no one responded her. Sherlock just turned away and putted Jenny on the desk, making her stand.

"At least my granddaughter doesn't carry that woman's gene. How reassuring." She started to stare at Mycroft, "Who is James Moriaty by the way?"

"Oh, that one is…"Mycroft began to tell but of course Sherlock didn't let him.

"A sod who's genius about committing crimes and likes bombing, tried to blow John and I up last year. I was taking Mycroft's missile plan to a swimming pool and…"

"Ok, Sherlly. Say no more, I know what you mean." The mother raised her hand to stop her younger son. She looked furious, but not to anyone in this sitting area.

Silence fell on. Barbara Holmes breathed heavily, paced around stared blankly to the walls, ignoring everyone, pondering. John wasn't sure what to do, but the Holmes brother seemed very used to this circumstances.

Finally, she stopped by the desk where Sherlock was standing.

"I believe you simplified a lot about your detective career in your e-mails, Sherlly." spoke she, watching her younger son helping his daughter practicing her standing. Her tone was calm. John was impressed by her composure.

"Sorry about being dishonest, mother," muttered Sherlock quietly, "those were all trivia, didn't worth your attention until now."

"You carry her too much, dear. Do you aware of that?" said Barbara as she patting Sherlock's shoulder, "She barely has chance to practice standing and walking, almost one year old. Most children can stand steadier by this age. Overprotection is not an advantage, Sherlly."

"Which date do you prefer, mum." Sherlock simply ended her words with a question, "Pick one in December, please."

"Pardon? "

"I think she was born in December, pick a date to be her birthday, please." His voice was so weak like a whisper, hardly heard but John and Mycroft caught it vividly. It sounded bitter.

"Oh, my dear boy." The mother called out distressingly, caressing her son's cheek with her finger, "How about, December twenty-forth, Christmas Eve?"

"Why do you think Christmas Eve is a good idea?" Sherlock seemed confused.

"I know that woman tricked you boys by faking one of her own death on a Christmas Eve." She looked down at the desk to the file, "But Jenny doesn't have to know that, she could get lots of advantages as a Christmas Eve baby, holidays, gifts, attentions."

"I don't know." murmured Sherlock without agreeing.

"You can think it through, take your time." said his mother, returned to the couch and sat down, "And I suppose all of you boys are desperate to seek out Jenny's birth mother, but in vain, am I correct?"

She gazed around the room, sighed silently. "Do you think that birth mother has something to do with that James Moriaty?" She looked at John, but John had nothing to tell. "Unlikely, I suppose."

"I agree with you, mother." muttered Sherlock.

"So do I. " responded Mycroft, "What should we do now, mummy, since we…..lose all of the leads."

John was surprised by Mycroft's question, did the Holmes boys always turn to their mummy for advice when they were desperate?

"I'm not sure, keep searching, then. Maybe start with those women who didn't donate their eggs for money, but for friends, family members or her own future purpose. Those maternal, loving kind."

"Why?" John couldn't help but ask.

"Intuition. See, Jenny, as far as I have noticed, is a lovely child, a natural caretaker wouldn't bother others very much, and sensitive to people's emotion. I've seen enough children in my life, I know which kind of personality could be descended from parents. Actually, I'm kind of impressed. If she didn't own that kind of caring spirit, she must have already been spoiled by her overprotective daddy. "

"That is hardly logical." said Sherlock, still leaning by the desk propping Jenny on her feet.

"Which part? Your daughter's loving character or your overwhelming protective instinct? "

Did she just say protective instinct? John couldn't quite sure what he had just heard.

"You can't deduce parents' personality by analyzing their child."

"There's no difficult, not at all, especially when I know one of the parents very well. Genetics research had confirmed part of these theories."

"Those are still hypotheses."

"But still useful. Either way, I'm just saying, and you know I'm very good at reading children. They are more interesting than adults, I'm sure you've already started to learn this, haven't you Sherlly? "

Sherlock simply replied with a sneer.

"Perhaps I shall get people to make a list of that potential birth mother then, mummy would you excuse me…"

"Do you really that eager to leave mummy a good impression by taking her conjectures as Gospel, Mycroft?" said Sherlock as a teasing tone.

"Sherlock." John called with resignation.

Mycroft just look to his mother, but said nothing. She gave him an understanding smile.

"Human ovum can be put to storage for twelve years, it would be thousands. Not to mention what's next, without DNA record, even if that woman is among them, how could we tell which one is the one? I said it would be more efficient if we just wait till she grows up to do facial identification, if we're lucky to have the technology by then." argued Sherlock impatiently, putting Jenny down to the floor, encouraged her to try steps.

And she did it, but stumbled after the first step.


	6. TOO BAD, I JUST BOUGHT ONE

**Chapter 6 TOO BAD, I JUST BOUGHT ONE**

Sherlock stared at Jenny on the floor, watching her stumbled across the living area with effort. She's challenging her limits, feeling frustrated and uncomfortable, mostly because there were too many people and too much attention. He could tell that had annoyed her, since the very same situation would annoy him as well.

At least we are both annoyed, terrific. He spoke to himself. Ever since little Jenny came in his life, things had started to go wrong. First he dropped cases for her, and now Mycroft brought mummy here to see her granddaughter, how delightful.

He never liked this kind of family occasion. His relationship with mummy could only go smooth by notes, letters, texts and e-mails. Usually, mummy was fine with this, as long as she could hear about him from time to time. But with Jenny around, she seemed convinced that she needed to pay her precious granddaughter a proper visit. (Ok, he did tell her that Jenny needed a pediatrician, but that wasn't the point.)

John's reaction even annoyed him further. He was clearly very fond of his mother, like most people were. Everyone liked her, even little Jenny. Sherlock was irritated by this, not because he didn't like his mother, she was much more sensible than most mothers in every conventional sense, but because John liked her so easily as if he didn't have to actually know her.

"So, Sherlly, did she show any sorts of interests with the violin?" asked mummy as she came back from the kitchen to have a glass of water. Sherlock raised his eyebrows, oh of course she wanted to know this.

"Not really. Except she tried to lick the strings and almost had herself cut."

"Then that's a yes I suppose." she smiled, "You actually did exactly the same thing in her age, as I recall."

"You just make that up." Sherlock turned to his mother, but she just shrugged at him.

"You know I didn't. And I got a witness here. Watching you managed to trick to get the instrument was used to be a regular entertainment."

Sherlock could simply sneer, hoping she could change a subject, mentioning the good old days wasn't a very wise choice, especially when it involved violin. Why did she want Jenny to be interested in violin anyway?

"Sherlock started to play very young I suppose?" asked John, he was certainly very curious about that piece of unimportant trivia.

"Our father was a violinist." answered Mycroft, "The kind who knew his music better than anything else. Sherlock inherited his violin actually. He did show talent at a very young age."

"Oh." John looked a little bit confused. John's face showed a clear message that he didn't think his brother or he looked like the sons of a violinist. At least his friend got this right. One of the main goals of his brother and he was not to become someone like their old man.

Suddenly, Jenny cried out from the floor. Sherlock gasped in his mind, raised his eyes to observe, realizing she was just happened to step on a piece of paper and almost fell down, yet she did a good job of balancing herself. Impressive, considering she had just started to stand steadily for a few minutes.

"Sherlly, you really need to tidy things up for her sake." said mummy plainly, " in case it would happen again."

"I suppose she have just learned not to step onto papers, mummy." replied him, stepped forward to pick Jenny up. She looked a bit sleepy; in fact, Sherlock knew the real reason she'd stumble that much was that it just reached her nap time. Unfortunately, her usual napping spot, his armchair, was occupied by her dearest uncle Mycroft.

"You're on her spot." he stood right after the armchair Mycroft was sitting, "She needs to take her nap here."

Mycroft looked up at his face, widened his eyes giving him an amusing look, Sherlock knew he was amused by observing his parenting behavior, so he glared back, putting Jenny straight down to force Mycroft gave up his seat.

"Sherlock, you can always put her in bed when she needs a nap." John sighed disapprovingly, watching Mycroft stood up and moved to sit beside his mother.

"No. If I put her in bed, she'll sleep for 4 hours instead of 40 minutes, and none of us would be able to sleep tonight."

"You can wake her up."

"And watch her screams? You're not the one who's responsible to calm her, just shut up please." He placed Jenny comfortably into the armchair, covered her with his jacket. Mummy was muttering to Mycroft, it seemed they both convinced he was going to spoil Jenny someday, how considerate.

John, however, was much more helpful. He handed him a small blanket for Sherlock to cover Jenny in the armchair. The blanket was a gift from Ms. Hudson, Jenny loved it wholeheartedly.

"She sleeps in your bed, I presume?" ask mummy.

"Yes." And Sherlock thought there was nothing wrong with that. Jenny simply liked it.

Mummy started to sigh."It would be better if she sleeps in a crib or her own bed."

"Children could be mentally more balanced in family bed as study shows, Dr. Holmes." replied Sherlock, he knew his brother was certainly glaring at him, but who cared?

"I know but I'm worrying you, my dear." Mummy's voice became higher, "Having a more than twenty pounds crushing on your chest every night is definitely harmful. You don't need to be a doctor to know that."

"Oh, I'm fine." Sherlock rolled his eyes. How on earth did mummy find out? He didn't actually feel any kinds of off color, besides, if he had been unwell, John would have found out first.

Mummy started to shook her head. She was smiling again. Sherlock didn't like that kind of smile. It made him feel like a useless child. Mummy always made him feel like a useless child.

"How long do you plan to stay in London, mummy?" ask him. Mycroft narrowed his eyes again.

"I won't stay for dinner with you, you can relax." Oh no she's smiling again. Sherlock stared at her, why she liked to smile so much? "I'll stay for couple of days. Visit some friends, do some shopping for sweet little Jenny."

"She doesn't need anything. If you're thinking about toys, she already has a lot." John burst into laughter; apparently his flatmate had a totally different idea about how to define toys, but if Jenny decided she loved his Rubik's blocks and plastic droppers more than anything, he had no problem to let her did whatever she wanted on those things, as long as it was safe.

"Actually I'm thinking about dresses. You dress her…" She paused, "white. It's a bit boring, don't you think?"

"What's wrong with white? She doesn't mind at all."

"There's nothing wrong with white. I simply wish to enjoy dressing my granddaughter nicely. God knew when I was expecting you decades ago, a girl was what I wished." Sherlock heard Mycroft smirked, how amusing.

"Oh, then I suppose I own you an apology, mummy, for being a disappointment."

"Nonsense. You boys may be many things in my opinion, but disappointment isn't one of them. And now, it seems you, Sherlly, have had enough, haven't you?" chuckled her vividly, Sherlock could do nothing but retreated to the desk beside his armchair.

"Glad you finally notice that, mummy. How obvious."

"Sherlock." Mycroft glared at him, but mummy gestured him to stop.

"It's fine. I should take my leave. Have to meet some friends in an hour. Goodbye then. It's nice to meet you, John. Really hope we could have a proper chat the other day." She stood up while talking, paced toward the door. Mycroft followed right behind her, taking out his mobile phone and about to call.

"I'm not taking your car, dear." said her, "prefer to walk at the moment. You have your business, so go ahead."

"But mummy…"

"Mycroft just do as she says. Your control complex doesn't work on her, so save it."

"Shelly." The mother sighed, "You're a parent now, try to behave like one." shook her head slightly, "Good day, boys." And then she left. Mycroft followed right behind her. Once the door was shut, Sherlock collapsed on the floor.

"Finally." He said with relief. John was shaking his head, muttering something about he shouldn't have treated his mother like that. Sherlock said no words. He could hear Mycroft got in his car, once again begging mummy to go with him, yet mummy insisted to walk. Her steps sounded delightful while she strolled away. Sherlock knew she was going to shopping for Jenny before she met friends. Maybe later she would come to him again to see her granddaughter on her own. He wasn't sure about that. But he was certain about no matter she would come again today or not, this was not going to be her last visit for Baker Street. So he decided to text her, as he always did:

_NICE TO SEE YOU MUMMY, DON'T WASTE YOUR MONEY ON PINAFORES _

_S_

Within five minutes, he got a reply:

_TOO BAD, I JUST BOUGHT ONE._


	7. Dextromethorphan and Sherlock

**This chapter is an extra one. It is from the point of view of Barbara Holmes to see her relationship with Sherlock. I didn't plan to write this one, but stories always have their own ideas. Hope you enjoy it.**

**I'm sorry for keep changing the summery of this story. The truth is, I wasn't quiet sure how this story would end until this week. I love all the character in the show, EVERY main character would have a place in this story. At first I did have some ideas about paring, but eventually it seemed to me rather unnecessary. **

**Many of you asked me about Jenny's genetic mother. To this question I could only say that I hope my idea would not disappoint you. Because for me, picturing different characters in their different circumstances of lives is the main pleasure of my writing. The person would reveal soon, hopefully. **

**Plus, I always forget to disclaim that I do not own these characters. But it is so obvious, isn't it?**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7 Dextromethorphan and Sherlock<strong>

It wasn't easy for Barbara Holmes to focus on the small talks of her dear old friends, Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson, who were sitting right in front of her. But she tried her best. The Stevensons were respectful and clever retired doctors from the children hospital she was currently running, it would be rude if she looked distraughtly during the meeting. She tried to smile, yet it was a real torture to hear the old couples speaking of their precious grandchildren with a nearly showing-off manner.

It wasn't their fault, she thought. After all they didn't do that on purpose, they just couldn't help it. Normally she was able to ignored it but today, it seemed to her, really difficult and exhausted, especially when she just heard the most ridiculous story from her boys and purchased loads of dresses for her new(or maybe not so new) but off-record granddaughter Jenny.

She envied them, for being able to spoke of grandchildren freely without risk or danger, for being able to show the pride of being a grandparent, or even for being able to slightly despise her as a sixty-something career woman with a son of twice divorce(with the same woman) and a (former drug-addicted)sociopath. It would be better if they just talked about their disapproval on her face, but it wasn't even possible. They were, after all, respectful and clever retired ex-colleagues of the hospital she was running for years.

Barbara was never a stranger of being despise. As a young woman she was used to being underestimated, by her parents, her friends and her professors from Med's school. Their disapprobation had reached a peak when she somehow got herself fell in love with a thirteen years older well-known violinist and pregnant out of wedlock. It had been in those dark days that she finally learned to distinguish real kind-hearted people from the fake ones. Her parents had failed to pass the test, not even her closest friends. To her surprise, it had been her long estranged half-brother who had kept looking after her during the hardship, although he did at first want to murder the man who became her husband later.

The Stevensons started to talk about their grandchildren again. Gosh. Why did they want to discuss Christmas presents right now? How on earth did they want her to know their new grandson (Was the baby's name Harry or Jerry? Why would she care?) was about to celebrate his very first Christmas in Manchester instead of London? Sometimes she really hoped she could have had Sherlly's sarcastic talent and dare. At least that could save her from this torment.

What a great relief that my sweet little Jenny will not share the air of London with the Stevensons in her first birthday and Christmas. She talked to herself, secretly pleased that she kept this little fact from them. God knew what would they say about little Jenny if they knew that poor child was not only born out of wedlock, but also didn't know who was her biological mother. As it turned up her boys were correct, making Jenny stay out of record before taking care of the "Moriaty affairs" was definitely a rational choice. Even if her premier were totally wrong.

Poor Jenny. Thought Barbara as she temporized the Stevensons. Poor sweet little thing, sensitive, considerate, and most of all, tough. It's remarkable that she was so calm while received vaccination. Usually if a child was accustomed to constant attention, he or she would never hesitate to take advantages of it. Judging by her father's overprotective behavior, it had been almost abnormal for Jenny to behave so still. Sherlly was lucky to have a daughter like this, or he would be troubled to death.

And this was why she thought that Jenny's genetic mother must be someone with the same spirit. But her younger son was right, her conjectures didn't help much. However, it was rather strange that Sherlly, who always needed to be thorough among his own affairs, acted so indifferent about this thing. He hadn't noticed it, nor would he ever admit, yet Barbara knew in her heart that just like he didn't pay anything future attention to the surrogate mother's death, the very same reason her younger son had been so disinterested, was that he actually didn't want to find the mysterious biological mother at all. That woman might be a disappointment, or even worse, part of a scheme. He was already upset about what happened to Jenny, if it turned out that it was indeed some sort of dreadful conspiracy( although how logically unlikely), it would be much more than upset. No matter how he putted it himself, he was, after all, more than just sensitive than he could realize.

"So Barbara," Mrs. Stevensons finally found herself had always been talking since they sat on the table, "what bring you back in central London? I thought you once said that you don't think you'd want to step in this area anymore, am I right?"

"I did say so." replied her with a smile, at last, no more talk of grandchildren, "But a mother can always make exceptions for her boy who currently lives in Westminster."

"Oh, which one of them? I heard Mycroft sometimes visited your office so it must be…"

"Sherlock, of course."

"I saw him once on the paper." said Mr. Stevenson, "He's helping the police, the very same Inspector who investigated his uncle's case years ago, what was his name? Detective Inspector Les-"

"Lestrade. Sherlly works with him since then and he um…" Barbara didn't know what to say, they already knew that, why bother telling them again?

"gets himself sorted." Mr. Stevenson smiled to her, "You must be proud."

"Yes, I am." She looked into their eyes; she could see Mrs. Stevenson's disapproval sparkled in her pupils. This woman had been jealous her for years, for having both sons sent to public school, oxford, and graduated with recommendations. And she was pleased to herself that she found out Sherlly had became an addict and stormed into their conference room five years ago. Even though he was there to tell her that he no longer wanted to ruin himself any longer, Mrs. Stevenson still believed this mean that the outstanding chairwoman of the hospital had finally lost the battle of being a woman.

"I am very proud of him." said her once again, "His work requires strong nerves, and he manages it very well."

"I remember him as a boy." Why did this woman never learn to stop when someone's glaring at her? "He was…what should I say? An insecure child, I believe."

"My husband had gone early." Barbara felt rage started to flow in her head. "Suddenly and early, Cecelia. My boy was…"She paused for a moment to pick the right words, "He was simply reacting to the fear of mine. I was the one who was insecure."

"Oh, dear Barb." exclaimed Cecelia Stevenson, "I'm sorry for…I didn't mean…"

"It's fine, really. Had been years." At least this woman still knew what was guilty. Barbara sighed in her head. This was why she could never actually dislike her, Cecelia Stevenson was indeed a annoying in some way, but it was due to her lack of confidence, she certainly couldn't hate her for that.

Yet, anger still lurked in her mind. Her mentioning of her younger son in a clearly judgmental tone made it more difficult for Barbara to forgive her this time, but she would get through it anyway. Life had placed enormous difficulties for her in the past ages, coping with one, or maybe two shallow ex-colleagues was only a piece of cake.

This was how she left the restaurant and hailed a taxi, asking the driver took her to Baker Street once again. People always says that when you just having a hard time, you would always want to see your precious ones, so here she was.

The landlady answers the door with surprise. Barbara greeted her with an apology for being so late. She knew the landlady might be suspicious that she came to see her "grandniece" twice within a day, but Mrs. Hudson seemed believed in every word she said, accepted her kindly with a shout toward upstairs, where Sherlly was playing violin loudly.

"Good evening, mummy." Her son seemed cheerful, waving the bow in her hand. His daughter was sitting on the desk next to him "How's the Stevensons?" Oh he knew it at a glance, as always

"How can you know I was dining with the Stevensons? They are fine, by the way. Showing off the fifth grandchild's photos all the time."

"You're annoyed and exhausted, of course it was Stevensons." He raised his eyebows to her, "The fifth? They breed like rabbits, don't they?" He dropped his violin and bow, carrying Jenny and jumped on the cushion she was sitting. Boyish.

She burst into laughter.

"You are right. Those kids did look like rabbits. You should look at the customs their parents picked. I could never put Jenny in that. Imagine how would she feel when she looks at the pictures as a grown woman?"

Her son began to chuckle, reaching toward the shopping bag she carried, poured out all the clothes she had just bought for Jenny. It wasn't many, because she knew how fast a child can grow within a month. She also didn't purchase anything garish, it was important to suit the parent's preference when selecting presents for small child.

"Where's John?"

"Out for a date. Won't be back for at least two hours. There's no pinafores." He sounded delightful, "Oh, I like this one." He picked up a velvet purple dress with no other decoration.

"Of course you do. I returned the pinafore for this." She smirked at her son. He gave her a sneer. "I would like to see her tries some of the dresses but it seemed too late. When is her bed time?" She held Jenny onto her lap, the child didn't seem sleepy at all.

"nine, but already passed and actually never sticks to." The young father in the black shirt spoke pleasantly, "She likes to watch me working. Usually she just falls asleep automatically at half ten. But she's thrilled today, and even more excited to see you now, dear Granny. I think she won't sleep until ten."

"I have no doubt today is a big day. It's the day she took her first step. You will want to remember this. I should have reminded you to take a picture."

"I prefer to wait for the day she talks."

"Oh, I look forward that too. Did I tell you what your first word was?"

"Nope. But Mycroft did."

"What did he say?"

"Wrong."

Barbara frowned a bit. "Was that? Maybe he's correct."

"Then what is your version?"

"Dextromethorphan." She smiled to him, "This is more impressive, isn't it?" She could tell that he like this better.

"Cough medication?" asked her son suspiciously, his confused looked make her want to laugh; it had been years since she last saw him make inquiry like a curious child. "But how, exactly?"

"He was…" the sudden occurred of the late husband and father made Barbara gasped a little, "You were a frail child, frail and stubborn. It took effort to make you take medication every single night. I was the impatient one. Your dad, however, was better at this. Sometimes he drank the syrup before in order to persuade you. I would stop him if I saw, but….."

"Mummy, that was hardly to do with how he ended himself. My question is how could I utter Dextromenthrophan when I was in Jenny's age? "

"You were repeating after him." She sighed, "You had been tried to say something for a whole week. That night, it was November; you refused to take medicine again. We tried to read, to talk, to play music…almost everything we could come up to. Eventually your daddy, started to read the label of the syrup. It was almost midnight. You were concentrated. It seemed to me those unfamiliar words rouse your attention. And then, there it was."

"Dextromenthrophan. Cough syrup." muttered him.

"That's it."

"I hate that taste."

"Everyone does." She brushed her fingers in Jenny's face as the little girl looked up to her, giggling. "At least this one doesn't have to take that, except those mysterious substance contained in Petri dishes."

"That's just food."

"In Petri dishes, Sherlly." She chuckled.

"She loves it."

"Of course she does. That's food. Look, I'm not going to tell you what to do, she's your daughter. However, you did ask me for help. And I'm sure by help, you do not just mean vaccination, don't you?"

"I know you'll get it." He grinned to her.

"I knew it when your brother insisted to escort me here to see this child. After he showed me the unbelievable file of that unfortunate woman, I was certain. What do you want me to do?"

"I need to take some precaution for Jenny. Certainly won't ask Mycroft. John had been dragged into this already, so…" He let out a long breath.

"Ok, but what do you want me to do?"

"Don't you think," He suddenly pooled himself close to her, Barbara almost started by this big boy, his daughter on her lap bounced up by surprise, laughing once again.

"Think what?" She knew this look, like a kitten begging for food. She rarely said no to this face, even though she wanted to squeeze it.

"It's time for retirement."

"Retire…You want me to retire to look after Jenny for you?"

"No, I think you want to seize the moment and enjoy some leisure. You've been in battle since you were what? Nineteen years old? Why not give yourself a break?"

"And being free to harass you all the time? Surely I won't go to your brother. His assistant is even more interesting…..Don't make that face, Sherlly."

"Hun, pity he won't marry this one. You seem like her quit a lot."

"You are just trying to be lovely, don't spoil it." She rolled her eyes on him, "What's the point for me to retire?"

"You can travel, as you always wish to."

"Travel?" But what's the point to travel alone? Oh!

"Travel." She said, nodding slowly, gazing at her boy."You need someone to take her far away when…"

"Yes, mother."

Barbara took a long sigh. How could she refuse this? She looked into her son's eyes but he turned away. Yet his shoulder still leaned against hers. The little girl sitting on her lap started to groan, crawling back to her father, brushing one of her cheek on his chest.

"She's sleepy." Barbara said.

"Yes. I'll settle her down. Excuse me for a while, mummy."

"Sure." She smiled to him, watching him held up his daughter and stepped toward his bedroom. She could tell from the noise that he lay down in his bed together with Jenny, patting her head on his chest. That's unwise. A child's weight may be nothing for him right now, but he would suffer from the consequences some day.

A drop of warm thing suddenly emerged on her cheeks, Barbara lifted her hand to touch, it was wet.

She was tearing.

When was the last time she cried? The self-inquiry made her throat even more tightened. She stared at the half closed bedroom door of her younger son, fighting the impulse to storm in and hugged him in her arms. A slice of guilt urged into her head. No matter how hard she balanced, she was always partial to this younger son. And now the existence of Jenny made her favor him even more. She loved him, more than his father, his brother, anything. That's why she could stand connecting him only by e-mails and texts instead of seeing him in person. He's a complicated person, ever since he came to her as a half-still-early born. But Barbara knew to herself that in some way, he was actually not different from other else.

He had just asked her to retire, because he needed her.

And she could never say no to that kind of request.

A clear sound of sob burst from the bedroom. Barbara heard her son murmured wearily. Jenny seemed not so tired as they wanted, that's typical for a baby, she thought. But then something caught her attention.

Her granddaughter was muttering. Two syllables.

Sherlock.


	8. The Last Time

**Dear readers:**

**Sorry for making you wait so long. In this chapter the main plot will start. Lots of details will be revealed. I really hope you'd like it.**

**R&R please!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 8 The Last Time<strong>

John was laughing. The toddler in front of him just stopped and patted his face. Her palms were soft, smelled like fresh milk, soap, and tinny bit of chicken curry. She had just been fed for a proper meal, bathed, and dressed in a purple velvet dress. What a charming little thing.

"Your mother really has good taste. This fits her perfectly. Seems like made for her." John couldn't help but fetch his mobile phone to take pictures. Who wouldn't like to have some lovely photos of a beautiful little girl?

"Do you know I can sue you for taking pictures of my daughter without permission?" Sherlock spoke at the kitchen table, staring into his microscope. A plate of chicken curry lay next to his right hand, untouched.

"Oh, are you going to?" the doctor raised his eyebrows, putting his phone back to his pocket.

"No. Take as much as you like. Make sure you delete them before being stolen." He said absent-mindedly, raised his head from the microscope and looked toward to plate."Hum, mummy's food." He murmured.

"It's very kind of her. Cook for you before she left." Said John while he trying to stop Jenny to touch Sherlock's laptop wire."Besides, it smells so good."

Sherlock simply sneered. The detective made it very clear after his mother left this morning that he didn't want to talk about her. Especially after John found out he had slept on living room floor last night because his mother had taken his bed.

"Take it if you like." He knocked at his plate with his fingers.

"It's made for you, Sherlock."

"There's plenty. It will be enough until she come next time. Take this, John. I'll have some when I need."

"Alright then." John walked toward the table and took the plate, returning back to the sitting area. Jenny was smiling at him again. Maybe she wanted some more curry?

"Don't give her any, John." Sherlock said to him without even looked up, "Mummy always made her dishes full of cream, butter sort of thing. One more bite she will be literally overweight."

"Oh, really?" John took a careful bite. It was delicious, creamy. "Well, she looks rather slim. If this is her regular diet, she definitely has a good metabolism."

Sherlock smirked.

"Oh, dear John. Never let the appearance leading you. How on earth do you think she would eat any of this as regular meal? This was made for me to gain weight. Couldn't be more obvious."

"Ah." exclaimed John, suddenly the wonderful curry seemed to be not that tasty. "I'm certainly not the one who needs this. It belongs to you. Eat them all, please." He strolled back to the kitchen table, putting it back next to Sherlock.

"I don't eat what you've touched."

"I only took one spoon, Sherlock. Didn't put it back. It's hardly touched." He gave him a look. Sherlock seemed giving in.

"Fine." He stared at the plate, breathed in, "Leave it here. I'll eat it when finish this. Watch Jenny for a while would you?"

"Of course." said John, sitting down on his armchair, holding Jenny on his lap. She was interesting in his shirt buttons. But John noticed there was something unusual.

"How can you get curry sauce on your lips?" He took a closer of the little girl. Bloody hell, her fingers were greasy. "You…sneak?"

Sherlock started to snicker. John turned to him, found him looking at the dish, examining the tiny sign of Jenny's little crime.

"Hum, impressive. Remind me to teach you destroy evidence someday. Little brat." said him as he left the table and picked Jenny up, walking into bathroom to wash her hands. "Yesterday walked and talked. Today sneak. What's tomorrow? Hack in Mycroft's laptop?" His voice, however, sounded very proud.

John couldn't help but cover his face and grin. Like father like daughter. He thought.

And then there's something caught his attention.

"She talked?" ask him while Sherlock came out from the bathroom with the toddler stepping in front of him. "You didn't tell me this. What did she say?"

"Sherlock."

"What? Really?" John raised his eyes to the young father. "Congratulations, then."

"For what?" said him, back to his spot at the table.

"Her first word was your name. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"That simply indicate people are always shouting my name in this flat, nothing else. Besides," He gazed down at Jenny, who was currently tried to climb up John's lap. "she just said it once."

John could tell he was actually a bit disappointed.

"Well, maybe she would mutter daddy next time."

Sherlock didn't reply. John shook his head to himself, picking Jenny back to his lap, playing with her by covering her eyes to make her laugh. He heard Sherlock started to remove his microscope to make room for eating. Hum, mummy's cook was indeed different, wasn't it. He said his mum made those for him to gain weight?

"Does your mother always cook that for you?" asked John.

"Cook what?" muttered him as he raised he face.

"That. To make you gain weight?"

"Yes. What?"

"You must be a skinny child."

"I was a preemie. She's always very keen to make me grow bigger. Unfortunately her high-cal dishes usually ended up fatting Mycroft."

John widened his eyes and stared at his friend.

"I don't know that. You were…" said the doctor.

"I never told you." replied Sherlock while chewing.

"Yeah. Seriously, you never talk about your family. I was surprised that you and your mum seem very close."

"She's my mother, John."

"But you never visit her, at least for a whole year."

"I e-mail her every week. She's fine with it. Why's that bother you?" The detective gave him a annoyed look. John sighed to himself. How could he explain this?

"It's not, Sherlock. It just…you never contact your family. So I was actually expected a rather awkward visit yesterday, instead of finding out you and your brother's nicknames and watching you asked her for advice."

Sherlock raised his head, narrowed his eyes and gave him a confused expression.

"She's my mother."

"Alright." replied John, "Well, a lot of people don't get alone with their mother you know. I was just assuming…"

"That I was one of them. Hum, interesting." said he as he devoured the last mouth of curry and throw the plate and spoon into the sink.

"Interesting?" Once again, John couldn't follow his friend. He just found Jenny somehow access his mobile phone and decided to tuck it into her mouth. He grasped it away immediately. The girl gave him a wounded glare. Those puppy eyes looked exactly like Sherlock's when he yearning for cigarettes.

The detective didn't say anything further during that afternoon. John couldn't spare his attention to ask either. He was busying keeping an eye on Jenny. Sherlock didn't intervene for hours. Although John was sure that his friend was listening very carefully to everything happened to his little girl. He didn't mind looking after her for his friend. God knew Sherlock had been spent too much energy on Jenny for weeks. John was glad that Jenny had finally begun to trust him and allowed him to take her father's place for a few hours.

Yet he was literally exhausted when Sherlock, at last, decided to leave his microscope and joined them in the sitting area. Meanwhile Jenny was enthusiastically trying to destroy the long-neglected-rule-doubted Cludo.

"I won't pick you up if you keep torturing John, young lady." said Sherlock as he fake a furious look to Jenny, who raised her arms to him once he stepped in.

John beamed to himself. Watched his friend bent down and hold Jenny up, tickled her to make her giggle. Jesus, this scenario was beautiful.

But he didn't know this was the last time he saw Jenny playing in this living room.

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><p>It all started with a text, a text from HIM, in the next morning.<p>

Sherlock was working, examined a sample and files on one of the cases Lestrade brought him. Jenny was napping on the armchair. And then there it was.

James Moriaty was back.

The next thing John knew was they were summoned to London tower, while Jenny was left with Mrs. Hudson.

After they finished with the police and came back to Baker Street, the doctor immediately noticed that something in the flat had changed.

The girl was gone, with everything she had used, including all of the Petri dishes which once contained her food, the small teaspoons and straws Sherlock used to feed her, her towels, her clothe, everything.

John heard from Mrs. Hudson that Barbara came to the flat just ten minutes after they left. She took Jenny away. She also brought a beautiful young woman helping her to pack and three men in fine suit "cleaning" the entire flat.

Sherlock said nothing.

John was in shock. He couldn't quite understand what was that mean. Yet Sherlock's behavior answered all of his questions. The detective was calm. In fact, he was calm as there was nothing wrong with all this.

That was how John knew that everything was going wrong.


End file.
